


7PM at the Meadowlands

by Dulcinea



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Concerts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Music, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Stephen Strange Has Issues, Subtle First Date, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: Tony takes Stephen to a rock concert. It's an offer he can't refuse, for reasons.





	7PM at the Meadowlands

**Author's Note:**

> From the ironstrangeprompts Tumblr: Prompt #15 - Tony takes Stephen to a rock concert. Suggested by @mistressstrange. 
> 
> This is my first IronStrange fic ever! I hope this came out OK. Very nervous. But I am glad it is done.

Tony Stark stepping foot in the Sanctum became a regular occurrence once everything in the universe went back to normal, post-Gauntlet. This pissed Stephen off, because while keeping Tony alive was one of the reasons why they won (on top of many other reasons), he didn’t like the man. He would never like the man, ever.

He didn’t expect Stark and _Wong_  to befriend each other, though.

“Hey Gandalf, how’s it going?”

Stephen’s eye twitched from where he sat, holding a tomb of Sanskrit in his hands. “Wong’s upstairs.”

“Thanks, buddy!”

How the two bonded didn’t surprise him at first. He found the two of them in one of the Sanctum’s many libraries with headphones on and a laptop open, Stark grinning from ear-to-ear, and Wong, astoundingly, bug-eyed. Before he could interrupt, Wong yelled at him, “HOW HAVE YOU NEVER INTRODUCED ME TO HER BEFORE?” And then proceeded to actually _headbang_  his head off like he was from the 1980s.

When Wong scurried away to do some work (and grumbled about it), Tony flipped the laptop around. On the screen, Stephen saw Cher’s fishnet thighs, PVC leotard, curly hair and knew what song it was immediately, but Tony just had to rub it in and hum the tune “If I Could Turn Back Time.”

He never did get an answer from Wong on how he could headbang to _that_ song.

Wong’s newfound love of Cher, then Madonna, and then Adele didn’t surprise him either. What did shock Stephen was how many times Tony came into the Sanctum, when he could have easily called, emailed, texted or done _anything_ but show up in person. It was to the point where if he turned a corner, there was Tony. Playing a song on a laptop. Reading some book Wong handed to him. Looking at the relics with Wong’s supervision.

One day, he snapped, “Don’t you have things to do?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m on an extended vacation.”

“It’s been two months.”

“I think I’ve earned it.”

“Fine, but you could do it elsewhere.”

“Aww, and be away from my buddy Wong here?”

“Skype exists for a reason.”

“Yeah, true, but I get to annoy you too, so…”

Stephen glared.

Tony answered with a gigantic, blinding smile.

A rap of knuckles on his door knocked Stephen out of his thoughts. He closed his book and looked at the opposite end of the room.

He groaned. _Speak of the devil._

Tony stood in the doorframe, hands latching behind his back. “Oh Wicked Witch of the _Weeeest…_ ”

“You know I hate that one.”

“Glinda it is, then. Answer me this. When’s the last time you went out?”

“Out.”

“Yup. Outside. Without those—” Tony stepped inside the room, a hand reaching out to gesture to Stephen’s body. “Robes on. Normal human clothes. Remember jeans? T-shirt?”

Stephen rested the book on his lap, crossing his hands on top.

“I’ll take that as a no. Honestly, that’s okay. Because!” Then Tony smiled – that irritating, blinding smile – and he whipped up from behind his back, with his other hand, a pair of laminates, the plastic and black rope dangling from his fingertips. “I’m taking you out.”

He blinked. “Me.”

“Yup. You.”

“Why?”

“Wong doesn’t like heavy metal.”

“And you’re assuming I do.”

He dangled the passes, walking closer. “They’re side stage, VIP passes, maaan. A nice catered buffet, the best view in the house, no smelly metalheads rubbing up against you, hanging out with all the stars backstage—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know who it is.”

“I don’t like metal either.”

“Your Spotify account says otherwise.”

“I do _not_  have a Spotify account—”

“Wong set one up for you and synced it to your iTunes.”

“—as of today, because I am going to go delete it.” He slammed the book onto the table beside him and stormed right past Tony, heading for the door.

Behind him, Tony shouted the two words that stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Iron Maiden.”

Slowly, Stephen turned around.

Tony hadn’t turned back to face him. He still looked forward, right where Stephen had last sat, still dangling the two VIP passes in his hand, and if Stephen had to guess, there was most definitely a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

His suspicions were confirmed when Tony glanced over his shoulder and peered over his glasses. “Buuut I could always give these away—”

He snatched them right out of Tony’s hand.

Tony cackled and clapped his hands. “Sweet! You won’t regret it.”

“What time?”

“We can show up at 7 tonight, show’s at 9. In Jersey.”

“Meadowlands?”

“Remember your nose plugs.”

“Don’t need to be told twice on that.”

Tony grabbed the other VIP pass. “I’ll meet you at the venue.” He tapped it on Stephen’s shoulder, heading for the door. “And I’m telling you, Strange. Jeans. Wear them.”

“No.”

“You will!”

“No, I won’t.”

At exactly 7 at night, Stephen walked through the portal from the Sanctum to the VIP entrance side of the Meadowlands, wearing a plain black t-shirt, a red trench coat (the Cloak in disguise), his yellow gloves, a black belt and dark grey jeans. He didn’t acknowledge Tony’s wolf-whistle, walking right to the bodyguard and getting the pass around his neck scanned.

Tony looked right at home with everyone backstage, with his hair ungelled, faded blue jeans and a Killers t-shirt that caught many people’s attention. From what Stephen heard from conversations around him, Tony sported a really, _really_  rare, vintage t-shirt from Maiden’s first tours in England. More than once, a few backstage crew and some fans from the meet and greet asked where he got the t-shirt and if they could purchase it from him (to which Tony always said no).

It amused Stephen how people cared more about Tony’s t-shirt than the fact he was Tony Stark on first meeting, until they remembered who they were talking to and then proceeded to gush over him, asking for autographs, pictures and professing many thanks. Stephen got the same attention too at times during the evening, but it mostly went to Tony, and he was more than fine with that. More time for him to enjoy some peace and quiet. Once upon a time, he was like Tony, relishing in the attention and praise. There was a piece of him that still love it, but his time as a Master of the Mystic Arts taught him otherwise. It didn’t feel right anymore. It reminded him of a past that he rather forget, of who he was, what he did. That wasn’t him anymore. It couldn’t be him anymore. Because it wasn’t about him anymore.

He glanced at the people inside the catering tent. All these people were saved. All these people. Who didn’t get saved the first time though? Who got hurt before Thanos? Was what they did enough? People couldn’t remember Thanos at least, they forgot what the world was like, but still. Was it enough? Was he enough—

_Ping!_

Stephen shook his head. When he refocused, he found a Megadeth pick stuck in the middle of his plate of chicken, broccoli and mashed potatoes.

“Stop it,” Tony said.

He glanced up.

Tony chewed on a piece of broccoli, the stem end resting between his index and thumb. “No brooding allowed.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Sure. Right.” He flicked the stem right into Stephen’s chest.

“Hey!”

“Next time it’ll be a chicken piece. Fess up.”

Stephen sighed. “Honestly, it’s nothing worth getting into.” He picked up his fork again, pushing some potatoes around. “I’m listening to the band anyway.”

“Megadeth went off the stage five minutes ago.”

“Huh. Well.”

“Yeah.”

To Stephen’s relief, Tony went silent. For the next half hour, they ate their food from the back of the catering room, away from fans and the press. Only the backstage hands who couldn’t care less about who they were came in and out. They heard the roar of the crowd, the instruments tuning up, the mic checks and the bustle of voices rising and falling backstage like ocean waves.

Just as Stephen finished his last bite, Tony said, “You’re better than this.”

He met Tony’s eye. “Than what?”

“Me.”

He dropped his cutlery.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. “I don’t know all the details about what happened to you. I know all about your accident. I know you lost a big piece of your life. From what Wong said, you also sacrificed a whole lot to protect this planet _before_ Thanos came around. And from what I can see, you can’t let go of anything. We’ve all found ways to move on after Thanos, and I think you have too, but there’s so much more you need to deal with. And I get that. It’s not going to be easy, or pretty. But if you want to live your life, you have to realize the same thing I did.” He jerked his head up and met Stephen’s stare. “It will never go away. You can’t move on. Anyone who tells you otherwise is full of it. It’s like a disease. You learn to live with it. You fight it every day. The thoughts, the doubts, all of it? They’re never going to go away. But you learn safe ways to cope. Constructive habits, you know? Goodness knows I still have my bad habits, but I recognize they’re bad habits. I still beat myself up when I do fall into the bad habits, but that’s what I’m working on. But do you get what I’m saying?” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, one hand dangerously close to his own. “Be better than me, Stephen. Be stronger.” He smiled – a small, sad smile. “Never thought I’d say that, huh?”

_Doctor doctor, please_ _\-- oh, the mess I'm in…_

Tony leaned back, sliding his hands away. “Sounds like the band’s getting ready.”

Stephen blinked a few times. He leaned back into his chair, recapturing his breath. His body felt warm all over, especially on his cheeks, and a small wetness in his eyes. “Um. Yeah?”

“You’ve never seen them live, have you?” That blinding smile of Tony’s came back, and for once, Stephen welcomed it. “It’s a UFO cover. Let’s the fans know they’re coming to the stage. You know, like Metallica does with the Ecstasy of Gold?”

“I’ve never seen them live either.”

Tony laughed, and in time with the music Stephen heard, he sung, “Doctor, doctor, pleeeease! Oh, the mess _you’re_  in.” He stood up from the table, pointing at him. “Let’s go break your Maiden cherry.”

In a few minutes, Tony led him to the greatest view Stephen ever had at a concert. From the side stage, he saw the thousands filling up the Meadowlands stadium. Behind the amps, he saw all the props, the instruments, the backstage crew working to set everything up. A little skip came in his heart when he saw Steve Harris wave their way, bass guitar in hand, and he felt a little faint when Bruce Dickinson rushed over to give Tony a quick high-five and Stephen an even quicker handshake. Then the music stopped, Churchill came over the PA, a huge WWII plane revealed itself on stage, _we shall never surrender! –_ and then _BOOM_. Lights, pyro, the band stormed the stage and Stephen lost himself in the music of his college days, the world fading away.

With every song the band played, he fell more into a world that felt comfortable. Gone were thoughts of beforehand, of everything. All Stephen focused on was the amazing stage show, the energy, the pyrotechnics, and the small bits of personalized interactions he got from the band itself. Near the halfway point of the show, his voice was sore, he had a pick from Adrian Smith in his pocket, and a drum stick from Nicko already. Then Harris came over and let him hit his bass strings during The Trooper and Stephen felt like a little kid and couldn’t stop himself from geeking out.

He snuck a glance at Tony at that point, and he felt the heat on his cheeks turn into a burn, all because of the _look_ Tony gave him.

It was so…

_Loving?_

Stephen turned his attention back to the band, singing along to The Trooper and enamored by Dickinson’s boundless energy. But his cheeks didn’t fade in warmth, his breath had a hitch, and the skip in his heartbeat didn’t end by the song’s finish.

It did go away though so he could focus on the band and not about the man next to him. He soon felt a crink in his neck as he headbanged to Fear Of The Dark, but it didn’t matter. This was one of his favorite bands, up close, personal, with the best view in the house, playing songs he heard all the way through college and med school, and it was all because of this pigheaded man beside him taking him out.

This stubborn, brilliant, self-sacrificing, sweet, endearing, funny, kind man, who saw right through him. Who seemed to get him. Who knew Iron Maiden. Who took the time to check into a Spotify account he had no idea about and got him these tickets and was spending time with him. Who said those words. Who was there, and…

Just knew. Tony got it.

Stephen glanced over his shoulder. He found Tony singing along to the song as well, and he allowed himself to laugh.

Close to the end of the show, Tony yelled over the guitars of Run to the Hills, “You’re welcome!”

His body reacted before his brain, and Stephen answered by flinging his arms around Tony and crushing into a gigantic hug.

With his lips against Tony’s ear, he said loud and clear, “Thank you.”

And then kissed the lobe.

When he pulled away, Stephen saw the flush and rise of red on Tony’s cheeks. He allowed himself to smirk once he turned his attention back to the band.

For the final encore, Maiden played Stephen’s favorite song, one that the band played often on this tour as the ultimate closer. As Stephen sang alon, he felt Tony lean up against his side, singing the lyrics as loud as he was. He leaned back into him, their hips and shoulders touching as they stood cross-armed. They met gazes, both singing as one with the crowd, _Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years_ , and they smiled together. Then Stephen winked at him and Tony rolled his eyes, shoving his hip into Stephen’s.

As the band took their bows and final goodbyes to the crowd, Stephen conjured a portal to the Sanctum. He gestured to it, looking at Tony.

Tony thumbed over his shoulder. “No wild parties with the band?”

“It’s eleven o’clock. I rather have some tea and read a book.”

“Party pooper.”

“Suit yourself.” He stepped inside—and stopped when he felt a tentative hand slip into his gloved own.

Tony looked up. “You better have cable at least.”

He squeezed Tony’s hand. “Is Direct TV okay?”

“DISH? You cheapskate!”

The portal closed to the sound of Stephen’s laughter.


End file.
